X Marks the Spot
by PlushChrome
Summary: Sometimes, Shawn just gets a little... down. What happens when Lassiter catches him in his depressed state? Plenty of angst, some Lassie/Shawn friendship NO SLASH! And a little bit of whump! Cause that's just how I roll. Sorry, Shawn. XD The title stinks, I know. I couldn't think of a good one.
1. Prologue

Story Summary: Sometimes, Shawn just gets a little... down. What happens when Lassiter catches him in his depressed state? Plenty of angst, some Lassie/Shawn friendship NO SLASH! And a little bit of whump! Cause that's just how I roll. Sorry, Shawn. XD

Set sometime between S4:E9, STASITD and season 4:E10, YCHTE. So, implied Shabigail, but not relly present much in the story. Slight spoilers for S4:E9, STASITD, S3:E11, LDABBT,and S3:E15, TT17 in later chapters.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Psych.

~~Psych~~

It was times like these that made him just want to curl up on his couch and die.

Not that anything had happened in particular, it was just... sometimes he just got that way.

It would start with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not really stomach sickness, just a gut feeling.

Then he would feel cold and suddenly vulnerable, as if he were exposed to all the dangers of the world, and the world was going to take advantage of him. If he was alone when this happened, he would put his arms around himself and shiver, and go find some corner to sit in.

It wasn't that he actually thought he was going to be attacked or anything, he just felt better in smaller places. Safer.

Then, while he sat in whatever hidey-hole he had found for himself, the thoughts would wash over him.

Memories, of growing up in his father's house, constantly pushed to the max, trained to become what his father insisted he be, with no room for error and no chance of anything else. He was going to be a cop, that was all there was to it, and he was going to be the best cop that ever existed, and if he made even the slightest mistake, he was lectured for a half an hour about his set-in-stone future.

No pressure there.

He thought of his school years. At first, he had been the genius, the kid who knew everything. He had his eidetic memory to thank for that, as well as his developing deduction skills. There was no word he couldn't spell after seeing it, no fact he couldn't recall after reading it, and no math problem he couldn't figure out at a glance. After all, putting two and two together to get four was what he had been trained to do.

But it soon became apparent that "know-it-all Spencer" had simply been an early bloomer, he was no smarter than the rest of his classmates. At least, that's what his teachers thought when Shawn decided he'd had enough being the only kid who never got an answer wrong, the only kid who never got less than an A on his pop-quizzes, the only kid who could who could tell exactly which bullies would take which part of his lunch at which time, and which bullies would corner him and taunt him as soon as the teacher's back was turned.

So he gave up. He gave up being smart and started getting the answers wrong. He would purposely leave letters out of words when spelling. He would purposely come up with crazy off-the-wall answers about sharks and helicopters and secret agents for his history reports. He would purposely "forget" an important step in a math problem, causing his answer to come out completely wrong.

Of course, he always knew the fine line between "wrong" and "we-need-to-get-your-kid-tested-for-learning-disabilities."

He started acting up, being the class clown, doing anything and everything for a bit of attention and approval from his classmates. Somehow, he still never made any real friends. Except for Gus. But Gus had been friends with him before school, because they lived on the same street. Gus understood him a little more than most. No matter what he said to his friend, no matter how many wild and crazy adventures he dragged Gus into, Shawn had a special place in his heart for him.

Gus had been the only kid in school who considered Shawn a friend. He had put up with him during his know-it-all stage, he had put up with him during his daredevil attention-seeking stage, and he had put up with him during his angsty-teenager stage, during his parents separation.

Now Shawn thought of when his parents were fighting, when he would lie awake in his bed, the covers drawn over his head, trying to block out their voices, as they yelled at each other.

That was when he'd first started feeling exposed, that was when he first started getting that dull ache in his stomach that had nothing to do with eating too much pineapple pizza before bed.

He remembered when the divorce was finalized, when his mother and his father went their separate ways. He had been left with Henry. And he had blamed his father for the divorce. It was easier than blaming himself. Their relationship, already strained from the frustrations of him never being good enough for his father, took a sharp turn for the worse.

Henry had been hurting from the divorce, and like always, he hid his emotions behind a rough exterior, becoming even more devoted to making his son into the cop he'd envisioned him to be since the moment he heard "It's a boy."

This had been too much for Shawn. The pain and betrayal he felt at their divorce mixed with the fear that it had, in some way, been his fault, and the guilt he felt even then for blaming his dad. Throw that in with the stress of teenage life and the added burden of trying to be what his dad wanted him to be, and you got Shawn, who snapped under all the pressure.

He and his dad had started fighting, they screamed at each other every night. Shawn always said whatever came into his head, and he often caught himself saying the same sort of things he'd heard his mom say before the divorce. What he'd heard when he was under the covers.

He had hated himself for everything he said, and he had hated his dad for making him say it. He started to rebel, doing every little thing he could do to get back at his dad. For what, he wouldn't be able to tell you, now. _For everything,_ he thought. _I blamed him for every little problem in my life._ And it was killing them.

Finally, Shawn did the unforgivable. He stole a car. Well, he borrowed one, but that made no difference in the long run. He had been furious when he'd rolled down that window, to find his father's eyes looking down at him with such anger. But that wasn't what made Shawn so angry. It was the look of pure disappointment, pure betrayal, that made Shawn forget that he had done this _specifically_ to hurt his father.

Never mind that he had stolen the car, never mind that he had been rebelling for weeks, months even, never mind that he had snuck out countless times and done everything his father told him not to do. He had no right to look at him like that.

His dad had arrested him. Had him booked. Had made him face up to his crime and take responsibility for his actions. And with that on his record, Shawn couldn't have become a cop even if he had wanted to.

In a way, he had been relieved. He was finally free, he could be whatever he wanted. But he was also done. He was done with his father, he was done with Santa Barbara, he was done living his life the way he'd been forced to live.

After he was released from jail for the whole car thing, he took off. He didn't wait for graduation, he didn't tell anyone he was going, he just put on his helmet, got on his motorcycle and left. He had a backpack with extra clothes and a bit of cash saved up. That was all he needed.

Shawn's thoughts would then turn to his road trip. He had never told anybody what all he had done on it, and nobody ever asked him. Not that he'd ever complain, he didn't ever want to think about his time on the road, let alone tell other people. But, in times like these, memories came back on their own accord.

While he had been gone, he'd sent postcards to Gus from all over the country, every time he stopped someplace interesting, he would buy a postcard and send it to Gus. It was his way of trying to apologize for leaving his best friend, and also a way for him to let someone know he was alright.

Because if anything happened to him, he didn't want to disappear off the face of the earth, without a trace. He wanted someone to know he was gone, even if the only indication of his... trouble... was the absence of a postcard.

Shawn had learned pretty quickly that a 17 year-old drop-out high-school student out on the road, all by himself, with nowhere to go and no one to wait for him at home, attracted all sorts of trouble.

He managed to stay out of trouble most of the time, he had his dad's super-cop training to thank for that, even though he would never admit it. Sometimes, however, knowing how many hats were in a room couldn't save you from everything.

And those times when he hadn't been able to protect himself were now permanently etched into his brain, compliments of his eidetic memory.

After nine years of wandering around the country, taking any odd job he could get to pay for the gas of his bike, his postcard to Gus, and the occasional meal, Shawn had discovered that his dad had left Santa Barbara, and he turned his handle bars towards home and soon found himself driving the familiar streets of where he had grown up.

He spent a year there, in crummy apartments, working minimum wage jobs, mooching money off of Gus whenever he couldn't pay his rent. Gus was decent about it, although he had just about had a heart attack the first time Shawn had shown up at his front door as if he hadn't been gone for nine years. But, things had settled into a comfortable routine, Shawn would work, he would annoy Gus, he would go home and watch TV.

Sometimes, when he was watching the news, he would notice something critical, and call in an anonymous tip about a case. It seemed that even with his dad living all the way across the country in Miami, with nine years of no contact, he still managed to get through to Shawn, to count the hats, to notice the details.

Around this time in his thoughts, Shawn would usually get up and stop feeling sorry for himself, because after that part of his life, he started having happy thoughts. He would think of working at Psych, he would think of saving Gus from a life of boredom as a pharmaceutical salesman. He would think of Abigail, his beautiful girlfriend.

He would think of running around like ninjas, catching bad guys and helping innocent, helpless people. He thought of Jules, and her nice smile, her pretty eyes, and her loving heart. He thought of Lassiter, gruff, tough, no-nonsense Lassie, always barking out commands and getting flustered and annoyed whenever Shawn walked into his crime scene or interrogation.

He thought of the good that he was doing the city, he had found a way to go around the obstacle of the criminal record problem and do the job he was good at, live out his childhood dream.

Because, no matter how many times he had told his dad he didn't want to be a cop, no matter how many times he had scoffed at the idea, he really had wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps. He would never say it out loud, but he had always been proud of his father.

His father. That was another thing that made Shawn stop feeling down in the dumps. When he'd been in Santa Barbara for about a year, he found out his father had moved back to town. He had been frustrated at first, and angry. But after nearly five years of awkwardly hinting to each other that they each might've been wrong, things were finally starting to get patched up between them.

He still saw a certain look in his dad's eyes sometimes, a flash of sadness that his son wasn't what he had wanted him to be, but Shawn knew that even though there would always be regret, his dad was proud of him for what he had become, and would always be there to watch his back.

Yeah, it was times like these that made him want to curl up on his couch and die, but those times were soon over and he could go back to being the overly hyper, happy-go-lucky do-anything-for-attention Psychic that everyone expected him to be. He had put on this act for years, and it fit him well. Nobody had seen through his charade, and he didn't want them to. After all, these bouts of the blues didn't last long, and he was fine.

Really.


	2. Chapter 1

"I'M SEEING SOMETHING!" Shawn, with his eyes tightly closed and his hands pressed against his head, burst into the chief's office, followed by Gus. Opening his eyes, Shawn found that there were three people in the room, the Chief, Lassiter, and Juliet. Good.

"I see... I see... I SEE A PUPPY!" Lassiter rolled his eyes while Juliet and the chief looked puzzled. "A puppy?" Juliet said. "Is this puppy important?"

"Yes!" Shawn said, closing his eyes once more. "He's very important... wait... no he's not! He's just a picture!" "You see a _picture _of a puppy?" Lassiter said skeptically. "How is that important?"

"There's words on the picture..." Shawn said. "I... I can see them... 'LOST.' It says the puppy's lost. No wait, forget the puppy, something else is missing. SomeONE else is missing." He opened his eyes and looked around at everybody again, making sure to look concerned. "Someone's missing?" He asked. The chief sighed.

"This morning, we got a call about a domestic disturbance in an apartment complex across town. When we got there, we were pointed to the apartment of a Matthew Thomas. There were signs of a struggle, but Mr. Thomas was not home. Some blood found at the scene was confirmed to match that of the victim, and this is now considered a kidnapping."

"That's terrible!" Shawn said. "Is there any way I can help?" "No." Lassiter muttered, but Shawn could tell just by looking at him that he expected the chief to say otherwise.

"Mr. Spencer," she said. "You are officially on the case." Shawn smiled. He had been itching for a case for some time, but the chief had told him that he couldn't help on any more cases until his arm was out of the sling. "Thank you, chief!" He said smiling. "I'll let you know if I divine anything." "Good," she said. "Now, go get to work. All of you." Still smiling, Shawn left the office, followed by Gus, Jules, and Lassiter. Unfortunately, that's when he felt the all-too familiar feeling of unease slowly creep its way into his stomach.

"Gus," he said as Lassiter and Jules headed toward their desks and began to work. "How about we go on down to the scene of the crime and see what we can find?"

"Shawn, you know I have to do my route today, right? If I don't get it done by tonight, then I'll be past my deadline, and I could get fired for that. And then who would pay the bills?" Gus was already a little angry, and it showed.

"Besides, you said that there weren't any cases to do today. You said you just wanted to stop by and say hi." Shawn made a face as if he was annoyed and then sighed. "Fine," he said, as if he hadn't been planning on Gus's refusal. "You go ahead and sell drugs." Gus gave him a glare. "I will see you later. Give me a call when you're done with your route." Gus nodded.

"I can still give you a ride to the Psych office," he offered. Shawn shook his head. "Nah, I have to use the little boy's room. I'll just walk there when I'm done." Gus looked at him, slightly concerned. "Shawn, are you alright?" He asked._ Oh, shoot._ He must not have been looking as cheerful as he should have been.

"Gus," he said, pretending to be offended. "I can walk just fine. I may not be the most fit person in the universe, but I don't think a little exercise is gonna kill me. Stop treating me like an invalid." Gus shrugged. "Fine," he said. "I'll see you later. Be careful." He turned around and left. Shawn sighed. What he'd said to Gus hadn't been entirely a lie. Ever since he had been shot and kidnapped, Gus had been treating him as if he couldn't take care of himself, and it had been driving him crazy.

He felt cold now, like usual, but he continued to act cheerful as he made his way through the station. Shawn knew just about every cop there, and didn't want to risk having them see him shiver. He didn't head for the bathrooms, however. He just wanted to find someplace relatively quiet and out of the way.

He made his way to the records room, which was empty. He left the lights off and sat in the corner, staring off into the shadows of the opposite corner as he let his mask slip off. He wrapped his arms around his knees and finally allowed himself to shiver as he began to think his usual thoughts.

He had only been in there for a few moments, however, when the door opened suddenly and the lights were flashed on. Shawn jumped, startled, and let out a gasp. He looked up at Lassiter, who looked just about as surprised as he was.

"Spencer?" He asked. "What are you doing in here?" Shawn struggled to get his mask back in place, which was made hard by the embarrassment he felt staining his face red. "Lassie..." He sputtered as he quickly stood up from his place on the floor.

He'd been caught. He'd never been caught before, although it had come close. He remembered once Jules had found him in a closet, where he'd been sitting as he thought over his life, but she had given him plenty of warning before opening the door, and he had been able to pull off his usual attitude.

Well, he mostly pulled it off, but she'd chalked it up to him being scared at the murder-camp situation. He hated that she thought he was scared, of course, but better that than the alternative. He decided to use the same story on Lassiter that he'd used on her.

"You wouldn't believe this," He said. Lassiter rolled his eyes as if he already didn't. "But sometimes, the lights of the psychic vision get a little too bright, and I have to compensate by hiding out in dark places, so I can get them dim again."

It came out even more flat-out lie than it had for Jules, and Shawn knew he was sunk. Lassiter didn't pry, however, he seemed mostly angry that Shawn had startled him and was in the records room unsupervised.

"You're not supposed to be in here. I thought you'd left the station!" He looked at him with a weird expression in his eyes, that Shawn had only seen him use once or twice before, the last time not too long ago, actually. It was concern, and it was making Shawn even more flustered. _This was not supposed to happen,_ he thought miserably.

"Well," he said. "I'll be getting out of your hair, then," he said. "I'll go find some other closet to hide in." _Oh, great, why did I say that out loud? _He pushed past the detective and all but rushed to the door of the station. He tried to get his usual mask on his face, but he kept getting funny looks from the officers he passed, which made him even more flustered, and he just couldn't get the mask to come back up.

He finally made it out of the station, and he chose a direction at random and started walking, just desperate to get away. When he was sure that he wasn't being followed, he slowed his pace, and began breathing deeply, trying to get his heart beat down to the usual pace.

_I'm gonna have a lot of explaining to do,_ he thought. _Better get working on a story._

~Psych~

Lassiter stood in the records room, surprised at what had just happened. He had jumped himself when he saw Spencer sitting on the floor in the corner, letting out a "whoa," as the consultant flinched. He hadn't expected anyone to be in here, he had just needed to look up the records on the victim of a case. So he had hurried in, ready to get to work as soon as he found the right file.

Now that the initial surprise was over, he felt annoyance at the encounter. Spencer should not have been in here, who knows what he had messed up down here?

He made his way to the file cabinets and pulled open a drawer, quickly finding the right folder. He opened it, but couldn't seem to focus on the words of the page. Spencer hadn't looked like himself when Lassiter had walked in on him. He'd looked pretty terrible, actually. Was there something wrong with him?

Lassiter groaned softly as he thought of the encounter. Spencer just always seemed to get under his skin, he couldn't have one minute of peace. He'd had a nice break from the antics of the consultant for the past few weeks, the chief had kept him away from the station as a result of his recent injury. But now things were going to get back to the usual, frustrating way they were, and Lassiter would just have to get used to it.

Wait. Spencer had just gotten over the physical recovery from his recent experience, an experience that could be considered traumatic for some people. Perhaps that was it, perhaps that was why he had been hiding in the records room. Lassiter didn't buy for one second that lousy story Spencer had tried to give him, about "psychic lights" and whatnot.

For a second, he thought he should try to call Spencer, offer him some sort of comfort or something, but embarrassment soon drove that thought away. What kind of comfort could he offer the idiot? The kid would turn it down anyway, he had certainly rushed out of the room in a hurry. He obviously didn't want to talk about it, and that was just fine with Lassiter.

Still, he decided to watch Spencer a little more closely for the next few weeks, see if he could find something wrong with him. _Who knows? Maybe I could convince the chief he's not ready for more cases yet._

Finally able to focus on the file, Lassiter returned to his desk and began to work.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or McDonalds. Just sayin'.

~Psych~

When Shawn finally stopped feeling like a hunted animal, he changed directions and headed for the Psych office. One good thing had come from his encounter with Lassiter: he had been startled out of his depressing thoughts before he'd really had a chance to think them.

_So one good scare gets rid of depression,_ He thought. _Just like the hiccups._

It was a beautiful day, and Shawn bought an ice cream to lick as he walked. The sun was shining bright and people were all walking everywhere, rushing to get to wherever they were going.

He analyzed as he passed people, figuring out what their stories were at a single glance. A man walked by, worrying his bottom lip and checking his watch, his perfect-condition briefcase swinging at his side, his sleeve barely covering a smudge of oil on his wrist. _Rookie at the office, car trouble, late for an important meeting._

A girl and a guy, holding hands and grinning from ear to ear at each other. The girl was blushing nervously. _First date._ Except, the boy glanced over her shoulder as they hugged, checking out another girl. _Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater._

A man in his mid-forties, sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. There was a circle of skin around his ring finger, slightly paler than the rest of his finger. _Marriage trouble. No, wait. _The man glanced up towards a nearby playground where a young boy was playing on the swingset. _Recently separated. Fighting for custody._

Two giggling girls rushed past, whispering to each other. One of them was wearing a silver bracelet and designer clothes. She pulled out a blinged out smart phone as the other girl looked at it briefly, a flash of envy playing across her face. _Best friends, but Blondie's jealous cause Red-head's got a rich daddy._

He passed several more, each with their own stories. But nobody else seemed to actually notice the beautiful day. Everyone was too busy. He was the only one with an ice cream, the only one walking slowly, as if he wasn't in a hurry. He was the only one who seemed to feel the slight breeze play across his face.

_Why don't they pay attention?_ He thought. _Can't they see that life is passing them by, while they don't even look at it? Trouble will still be there for them when they get back, might as well stop and smell the flowers._

When he finally reached the Psych office, He had officially got over his philosophical mind-set and he was ready to get to work. Regardless of what people thought, he usually did do a fair amount of research when working on a case.

He looked up the missing person, Matthew Thomas, and discovered that he was 20 years old, worked at a McDonalds downtown, was in a relationship, had only had his apartment for about three months, and had a sister living in town. _Okay, plenty to work with here._

When Gus came walking in about an hour later, He found Shawn sitting cross-legged on the floor, folding a newspaper into different shapes.

"Shawn! Is that today's paper?" He asked, setting his case next to his desk. "No," Shawn said. "It's a swan named Bill. He owns this little windmill. It's been doing well financially, and he just spent all the extra money he earned on this nifty little hat." Gus glanced at the paper windmill and saw the date printed on the front.

"Shawn!" He said again. "I wanted to read that! I didn't get a chance to do it this morning, because you dragged me out to the station before I even had my coffee!"

"Sorry buddy," Shawn said, in a tone that clearly stated that he wasn't very sorry. "But I can make it up to you! The missing guy, Matthew Thomas? I think I know a few places we can go to see if we can find out anything."

Gus glared at him. "You realize that you just offered to apologize to me by dragging me off to work on a case I didn't want to take in the first place? How does that make any sense?"

"Gus!" Shawn whined. "Don't be the one french-fry in the bottom of the carton that didn't get any salt. Just come with me on this and let's solve this case!"

Gus sighed. "Fine," he said. "But now I'm hungry. Let's stop for some lunch first." Shawn didn't even have to think as he got up from the floor. "Deal," he said.

~Psych~

The first place they went to after lunch was the apartment he had been sharing with his sister until three months ago.

Holding his finger to the doorbell, they didn't have to wait long before the door was opened by a young woman.

"Hello?" She said, looking them over suspiciously. She was pretty, with brown curly hair and green eyes, and she was a nice dresser, although Shawn would have preferred a little less pink.

"Hello," he smiled. "My name is Shawn Spencer, and this is my associate, Hiro Glifex." Gus frowned. "Ignore him," he said to the girl, putting on his best "playah" face. "My name is Burton Guster. Gus to my friends." Shawn sighed. "Are you... Maria Thomas?" he asked. The girl nodded. "Yes," she said. "Can I help you with something?"

"Indeed, you can!" Shawn said. "We're Psychic detectives with the Santa Barbara Police Department, and I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions about your brother, Matthew."

"Oh." The girl stepped back and opened the door wider. "Yeah, sure. Come on in." They stepped through the door and waited as the girl shut it behind them and then led them into the kitchen.

Shawn looked around as they walked through the front room, the apartment was nice and well kept, decorated elegantly with a few pictures on a bookcase across the wall. He noticed that Matthew was in some of them, but there was another man in some others. He looked at Maria and saw the ring. She was engaged.

"You don't seem too upset about your brother," he said, as way of starting the conversation. Maria scoffed. "Yeah, well, he was a total deadbeat and a drunk," she said. "He was probably hammered the other night and he'll wake up behind a dumpster in a few days and turn up out of the blue. It's not the first time it's happened. Coffee?"

She held up a half-filled pot and pulled some cups out of a cupboard. Shawn and Gus nodded and she poured the drink into three cups and passed them over. "Creamer and sugar are in those containers." She nodded towards another counter and began to sip her coffee black.

"So you don't think he's really missing?" Shawn asked as he dumped spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "Naw," Maria said. "Like I said, he'll turn up." "But what about the blood they found at his apartment?" Gus asked. Maria shrugged. "Maybe he hit his head on the coffee table. Maybe he cut himself shaving. Maybe he couldn't get his bottle opened, so he smashed it open and cut himself on broken glass. Again."

Shawn nodded and then laughed. "Hey, Hiro, do you remember that time when _you _couldn't get your beer open, and you smashed it over your head?" He laughed again, wiping his eyes and shaking his head. "Man, those were some wild times." Gus frowned.

"That never happened, Shawn!" He said. "And my name's not Hiro!" Maria raised her eyebrows, and Shawn stifled his laughter.

"Anyway," he said. "Tell us about your brother. I'm sensing..." He put his hand up to his head. "You needed him to move out, to make room for someone else... but you still loved your brother, Is that right?"

Maria nodded, obviously impressed. "That's right," she agreed. Then she sighed. "Matt's always been a sweet kid, I mean, ever since he was little, he was just too nice for his own good. He used to get picked on in school all the time. I tried to protect him, but I was already in middle school when he was born, I was off to college before he finished the first grade.

Then mom and dad started fighting, and I didn't know about it. I was off having fun, I wasn't there for him. Then the divorce came, and it shocked me. I was busy at the time, getting ready for finals, and I couldn't be bothered to come down and see him. When I graduated, I came home, and he was changed. I mean, he'd always been quiet, he kept to himself. But this..." She shook her head.

"He was ten years old, and I didn't hear him say one word the whole time I was there. I tried to get him to open up, but then our mom got custody of him and she moved to another state. I didn't see him again for about five years, and then he just showed up at my door, he said he'd run away and needed a place to stay. I don't know what happened, he never told me.

I convinced him to go back, and finish high school. I always wonder if that might've been a mistake. I went down to see him graduate, and he was just... he wasn't himself. He didn't smile the whole time, and when it was all over, he followed me to my car with a duffel bag over his shoulder. He said he wasn't going back this time, he'd finished high-school and now he wanted to leave. So I took him with me.

For awhile, he seemed to get better, he got a job, he began to smile again, he started speaking more and more. But then, about a year ago, he started drinking. He would show up drunk and I would take care of him. He'd apologize, he'd swear it wouldn't happen again, and then he'd be alright for a week before he'd show up drunk again.

I still didn't really mind, I mean, yeah, it was annoying, but I felt like I needed to make up for never being there for him as a kid. But then Josh proposed, and I simply couldn't take care of him anymore.

So I packed his stuff, found him an apartment, paid the first month's rent in advance, and told him that he needed to straighten out. I still call him about once a week to check up on him, but I haven't seen him since. I love my brother, and I want to take care of him, but I can't continue to support him, and I don't want to be an enabler."

Shawn had listened quietly throughout the whole story. He suddenly felt a connection to this Matt person, and resolved to find him, no matter what. But, it was obvious Maria was telling the truth, and Matthew was not here. So it was time to move on to look for more clues elsewhere. The next place he would have to look would be Matthew's apartment.

"Well, thank you for your time. That's all I needed to know." He downed his coffee in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ready to go, Hiro?" he asked.

"Stop calling me that, Shawn," Gus said, irritated. Then he smiled at Maria. "My name is Gus," he said again. "Here's my number, call us if you think of anything that might help." Maria nodded. "I'll do that," she said.

When they got back in the car, Shawn looked at Gus for a minute. "What?" his friend asked. "Gus!" Shawn whined. "It's not gonna happen! She's engaged. Taken for. Tying the knot. So give it up." Gus smirked. "Engagements can easily be broken," He said. Shawn sighed again. Sometimes, "playah" Gus just got on his nerves.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, McDonalds, Pepsi or _Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day_. Or AA. Does anybody really own AA? I don't know. Meh, if it has an owner, I am not that owner.

~Psych~

Arriving at Matthew's apartment, Shawn saw police tape spread across the front door. Reaching over it, he opened the door quietly and stepped over the tape, followed by Gus.

The place was trashed, and not only from a struggle. There were dirty dishes everywhere, a thin layer of dust covered all flat surfaces, empty soda cans and candy bar wrappers were tossed all over the floor. And the place stank like old gym socks. Shawn immediately noticed the lack of beer bottles, however.

"Huh." he said. "Looks like somebody's been sobering up for the past three months." "How can you tell?" Gus asked, looking around the room in the completely wrong direction. The corner of Shawn's mouth turned up for a split second. After four and a half years, Gus still hadn't picked much up.

"Look around," he explained. "The place is a mess, so the sister was right, he's not exactly the most stable guy around. But there are no beer cans, just soda." He went into the kitchen, walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. There wasn't much in there, a six-pack of Pepsi, an open carton of milk, a McDonald's bag filled with french-fries and a half-eaten burger, and a zipper bag filled with pineapple chunks.

He shut the fridge and checked the freezer. A bag of ice, a frozen pizza, and a packet of frozen burritos. Oh, wait a second, there was something behind the ice. A small packet with two frozen steaks. He shut the freezer and looked at the counter. A box of garlic noodles, a can of baby corn, one long slender white candle and a box of pre-made brownies. All still in plastic shopping bags.

"Dude, he was getting ready for a date, he was gonna make a romantic dinner for his girlfriend." "Really?" Gus looked back into the living room. "Who has a romantic date in an apartment this trashed?" Shawn looked around again, and saw a calendar hanging on the wall. The next day was circled in red. "The date's tomorrow," he said. "Matthew was kidnapped yesterday."

They went into the bedroom, where the blood had been found. Shawn didn't have to be hypo-observant to know that this was where the struggle had taken place, it was pretty obvious what had gone down, even though he discovered that the bedroom was the source of the dirty clothes smell.

The bed was slightly crooked, like someone had fallen against it and pushed. The corner table was also crooked, and there was a broken lamp on the floor next to it. The curtains over the window had been torn down and were lying in a tangled heap on the floor, and there was a hole bashed in the wall, like somebody had punched it.

"Yep, Maria doesn't know her little brother as much as she though she did," Shawn said. "This was definitely more than a drunken accident."

~Psych~

"Hello, My name is Shawn Spencer, and this is my personal servant for life, Schroeder... Pianoplayer." Gus huffed. "Really, Shawn? You don't even know his last name? He's a classic character!" "I can't do this with you right now," Shawn whispered, jerking his head towards the pretty young blonde standing in the door.

They were at the house of John and Melanie King, the parents of one Lexie King, Matthew's girlfriend. Lexie stood before them, confused at their exchange. Shawn took a deep breath.

"Lexie," He said. "We're Psychic detectives working with the Police, we're trying to find Matthew Thomas. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions."

Lexie's eyes grew wide and she swung the door open quickly. "Okay," she said. "I'll do anything I can to help, I'm really worried about Matt! Please tell me you don't think he's..." She let the sentence drop, looking at Shawn desperately. Shawn feigned confusion.

"Do I think he's cheating on you, and possibly ran off with a prettier, richer girl? Maybe to the airport, where they boarded a plane first-class on their way to some exotic location like the Caribbean, where they'll find some priest to marry them and they'll spend out the rest of their days in relaxation and luxury? No, No I don't think so." Lexie looked stunned, and Gus kicked Shawn in the shins as they made their way to the couch.

"Ouch!" He rubbed his leg and glared at Gus for a second. "Anyway," he continued. "Like I said, I just have a few questions for you. Like, when did you meet Matt? How long have you been dating? Can you tell me anything about his everyday life?"

Lexie nodded, seeming to get over her shock. "Well, I met Matt about six months ago, at McDonalds, where we both work. I'll admit, I didn't like him at first, he seemed really... stuck up, like he couldn't be bothered with talking to other people. But then I got to know him, and it turns out he's just really shy.

He had problems, I know, sometimes when he came to work, I could tell that he'd been drinking, but about three months ago, he made a drastic turn around. He said he'd started going to AA meetings, and he'd sworn off of alcohol forever." Lexie chuckled, smiling sadly.

"He told me he'd started spending all his extra money on fast-food, so whenever he got the urge to drink, he didn't have any money to buy it with. He also started working out in his free time, to give him something else to focus on. He almost took it to an obsession, he spent every waking moment doing some kind of work out."

Lexie smiled sadly. "He got pretty buff after awhile. It was cool." She sighed and continued with her story.

"Then, two months ago, he asked me on our first date. It's our two month anniversary tomorrow. He said he had something special planned. I wonder what it was..."

She trailed off for a second and glanced behind her. Shawn looked over his shoulder and saw a bedroom through an open door. There was a calendar on the wall, with a red circle over the next day. Then Lexie turned back to him.

"He told me he had a sister, if that helps. Said she was the one who inspired him to get his life together. Said she'd always watched over him, and if he ever became something great, it was because of her. And then he said-" Lexie stopped, her voice shaking. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"And then he said... he'd have me to thank as well." She started crying silently, and she pursed her lips together. She took another steadying breath and wiped her eyes. "Um," she muttered. "If... if that's all you want to know..."

Shawn nodded. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's all we wanted to know. Schroeder, if you're ready, we can... Man, come on!" Gus was crying in the seat beside him, sucking in air with shuddering half-sobs. "You know I'm a sympathetic crier, Shawn!" He whimpered. Shawn rolled his eyes and pulled Gus off the couch and through the door towards the Blueberry. "Man up, Gus!" He said. Although Lexie's story had him a little down himself. "Come on, let's go get some tacos, and then we'll stop by the station and see if there's anything new to the case."

Gus nodded and wiped his eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths as he climbed in the driver's seat.

Shawn sat patiently in the passenger seat. For about 30 seconds. "Man, would you just start the car?" He snapped. "I don't wanna drive with water in my eyes, Shawn!" Gus protested. "It could impair my vision! I am a safe driver, and there's nothing that will get me behind the wheel when it's not absolutely safe to do so!" Shawn rolled his eyes again as Gus finally started the car. "Finally!" He muttered, earning a glare from Gus. _Man, this definitely counts as a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day. Maybe I should move to Australia._

~Psych~

They were still eating their tacos when the call came in. "Hello?" Shawn's mouth was full as he answered, making the person on the other end pause for a second. "Shawn, are... are you eating something?" Oh, it was Jules. Shawn swallowed his bite of food and took a drink of root-beer before answering.

"Yes, I was, you see, sometimes the spirits get a little hungry, and I need to keep them fed." He rolled his eyes to Gus over the table. Gus snickered. "Oh, no wait, I was the one hungry. Is there any reason my eating surprises you, Jules?" Shawn was teasing her now.

"Shawn, I wasn't saying you shouldn't eat," Jules said. "It just surprised me that you would answer your phone with food in your mouth. It doesn't exactly make for pleasant conversation. Anyway, I was just calling to let you know we found our missing person."

"Really?" Shawn sat up a little straighter and he put his hand to the receiver of the phone.

"They found Matt," he whispered to Gus. Then he returned to Juliet. "Where is he?" He asked. There was a short pause over the phone. Then the sound of a sigh.

"He's dead."


	5. Chapter 4

Shawn couldn't breath for a second. Gus must have noticed something was off, because he put down his taco and leaned over the table.

"What is it, Shawn?" He asked. "What did Juliet say?"

Shawn cleared his throat and talked into the phone, but repeated what she'd said for Gus's benefit. "He's dead?" he asked. Gus's eyes widened.

"Yeah," Juliet said. "In fact, he was murdered. Pretty graphic, too."

Shawn could hear the sound of a car door opening and shutting over the phone. "We're leaving the crime scene now, if you want to meet us back at the station. No, I'm not going to keep them out of this, this is their case too."

Shawn realized that Lassiter was probably in the car with her, and he'd probably made an objection to her telling them to come to the station. He almost groaned, but caught himself just in time. With everything going on, he'd forgotten about their encounter this morning. Well, almost. He couldn't ever really forget it, what with his perfect memory.

He would just have to be extra careful. Lassie was sure to be there, and he'd probably be watching him the whole time.

"We'll be down as soon as possible," he told Juliet. "I'll see you there." He hung up his phone. "Where are we going?" Gus asked. "I don't want to go to any crime scene. You know how I feel about dead bodies."

"Don't worry, Gus," Shawn replied, stuffing another bite of his taco in his mouth. "We're jusht going thoo the shtashun." Gus looked at him, annoyed. Shawn almost smiled. Yeah, it was annoying to talk with your mouth full, but hey, it was what Shawn Spencer did, right? He shoved the rest of his taco in his mouth and took another bite, looking at Gus. "What?" He asked, taco spilling out of his mouth.

~Psych~

Lassiter was busy filling out paperwork when Spencer and his sidekick came in. He watched them from his desk as they walked from the front door straight to O'Hara's desk and began talking.

His encounter with Spencer fresh in his mind, Lassiter looked him over carefully. He was joking and laughing, the same way he always was. He didn't look any different. But... if he looked closely, he could see that something was off about Spencer's look. Not that it was any different from usual, and not that it was that noticeable either, it was just... forced.

That was it. That's why Spencer's look was so strange. It looked forced, like his happy-go-lucky attitude was all an act.

It was barely noticeable, he wouldn't have seen it if he wasn't looking, and even then, it was still hard to spot. But then again, he was the head detective in the Santa Barbara police department. It was his job to spot everything.

Spencer was pretty good at acting. He didn't look any different than usual, he seemed to have everybody else fooled, even O'Hara, who was handing him a case file.

Waitaminute. Man, she was giving them information on the case! He knew that they were hired consultants, but seriously? He stood up and walked quickly over to the group.

"Spencer!" He barked as he walked up. "Don't you have some other person to bother? We're all very busy here!" "Come on, Lassie!" Spencer whined. "We were hired on this case, we're just trying to help. Don't be such a grumpy-pants. Gus, who's being a grumpy-pants?" Gus shook his head. "Don't get me involved, Shawn. I've learned the hard way, you don't make fun of the guy with the gun."

Shawn looked at him for a second. "The hard way? Gus, you've never been shot, especially not because you would ever be a smart-mouth to someone packing heat. If anyone's learned "the hard way," it would be me."

"And yet, you haven't learned." Lassiter said smirking. Shawn shrugged and picked up the folder containing the file. "Is this the one from the case?" He asked. Everyone stared at him. He had just had an opportunity to pick at Lassiter and he'd passed it by. Shawn looked around. "What?" He asked. "Do I have something on my face?" They all blinked.

"Um," Juliet said. "No, it's just... never mind. Yeah, that's the Thomas case. His body was found down at the beach."

"What the heck!?" Spencer burst out, anger clearly written on his face. Lassiter's eyes narrowed, Spencer had seen the picture. He couldn't blame the younger man for his anger, he'd been pretty angry himself when he first saw the corpse of the 20 year old man.

The head had been hit, dried blood was matted into the curly brown hair. His face had been bruised, as if he'd been hit once or twice, and his shirt had been ripped, sliced with a knife right over the heart. The knife had pierced through the shirt and two deep slices were gouged into the victim's chest, crossing over each other to form a bright red X.

But perhaps the worst thing about the body was his leg. The victim's left leg had been completely cut off at the knee, and discarded about ten feet away from the rest of the body. It was a horrible way to die, and Lassiter got mad just thinking about it.

"How'd you find him?" Shawn asked quietly. Juliet swallowed. "It was horrible," she said.

"A little boy was playing in the sand and found the leg. His mother called 911 and we cleared the area and started digging. The rest of the body was found about ten feet away from it, the victim had been dead for an estimated 5 hours. We have Woody looking at the body now, but we're pretty sure he died from bleeding out."

Lassiter pursed his lips. The boy had been absolutely freaked. He couldn't be more than six years old, and he was bawling when they got to the scene, his mother trying to comfort him as best she could. She wasn't very calm herself, though. And who would be, after finding a dead body?

Shawn read the rest of the file, and didn't respond to Juliet. He closed it and set it down on her desk. "Are you getting anything?" She asked. He shook his head.

"I'm sensing he wasn't the type to get into much trouble, he had friends who would take care of him, and he'd been doing really good for himself for the past few months. I don't know who could've had it in for him."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, of course the psychic couldn't bring anything to the table, why had the chief expected anything otherwise? Spencer usually would comment on this, but he seemed to be avoiding Lassiter's gaze. He was looking at O'Hara, who was talking and hadn't seemed to notice anything was amiss. He would have to train her better.

"Well, I don't know what to do," she was saying. "There were no fingerprints, there was no weapon nearby, the sand in the area had some blood in it, yes, but not nearly enough to support that the victim was killed in the area. We believe that he was killed in a different location and then dropped there, but there's no way to find out where he was killed."

Lassiter couldn't help it, he'd had a very bad day, he was in a cross mood, and Spencer needed to be taken down a peg every once in a while. Besides, he was feeling a little uneasy about Spencer today, maybe a little push would cause the man's defenses to lower for a second, and he could figure out what was going on with the consultant. So he pushed.

"So, if you don't have anything helpful to bring to the table, I'd appreciate it if you and Guster here ran along and did whatever it is you two clowns do," he said spitefully. "We're busy."

Spencer looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time since before Lassiter had walked in on him that morning, and in that one glance, his mask was down completely.

The whirl of overwhelming emotions was displayed so strongly that Lassiter almost felt it himself. Betrayal, disappointment, anger, confusion, disbelief, grief, and, above all else, hurt. He was hurt.

Hurt that after all he worked for, after all he did, Lassiter still mocked him and made him feel inferior. That he was constantly belittled and told that he was a nuisance, a pest. In that fraction of a second, Shawn Spencer was hurt.

But the second passed quickly and the mask was put back up in place.

His eyes melted back into their normal care-free state and he laughed. "Clowns?" He said. "Really, Lassie? Out of everything you could have used, you call us clowns? We are totally not clowns, right Gus? I don't see any rainbow afro's. I don't see giant red noses. I don't see big feet. And I definitely don't see any of those little bouquets of bright flowers that squirt water all over you." He paused, as if considering something.

"Although, that does give me an idea about our next prank. Gus, where do you get flowers like that?" "I wouldn't know," Gus said. "And no, we are not coming to the station to start a water fight. We'd get arrested!"

They continued to banter as Lassiter groaned dramatically before returning to his desk. He would never admit it, but he was pretty shaken up about Spencer's slip. He'd known something was wrong, but he hadn't expected the sheer amount of what he had seen in Spencer's one glance. And then to cover it up so easily, he had simply blinked and had hidden it all away.

How much practice did he have at hiding his emotions? This seemed way too routine to be a recent problem. Lassiter turned on his laptop and pulled up a recent case, nothing important, just something he could work on without thinking about it, so he could appear busy while he did some thinking.

A small corner store had been armed at gunpoint about two weeks ago. The cashier had been shot dead and the thief got away. The store was poor, and locally owned. There were no cameras, and there was no evidence as to the identity of the perpetrator of the crime. The case was cold, there was almost no chance of finding the guy now.

Lassiter had read the file so may times that he knew most of it by heart, so he didn't even have to read it now as he scanned for anything useful. Which made it easy to focus on something else entirely.

Should he tell the chief about what he originally suspected, that Spencer could be dealing with some unnoticed trauma due to his recent experience? No, he couldn't do that without any proof, and so far all he had to back him up was that Spencer had behaved strangely when caught lurking in a room he was not allowed to be in, and that he had looked hurt when Lassiter told him to leave. Neither of which were much reason to temporarily suspend a man from police work, let alone get him professional help.

No, the only thing he could do at the moment was watch and wait. Maybe Spencer would slip up big, and then they could address his problems and get him some help.

Huh. Spencer had made a small slip today because he'd been pushed. Maybe if he pushed him hard enough, he'd slip up bigger. And nobody would think anything of it, because Lassiter and Shawn were known to push at each other. They'd think he was acting normally. Yeah, that was the way to do it.

Lassiter smiled as he reviewed the case. Yeah, he would push Spencer a little harder than usual, get him to spill, so that the chief could get him somebody to help with his problems. He was doing something relatively nice for someone else, and he could pick on Spencer while he was doing it. This would be fun.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or the energy drink Monster.

~Psych~

Lassiter sighed as he leaned over his desk, clutching his head in his hands. It had been a week since the first body had been found, and yes, I said first, as in, there had been more since then.

The second body had been a young man named Dave Ritz, a 24 year-old man with curly brown hair, who happened to have a criminal record for a few accounts of petty theft. The third, which had been discovered yesterday, was another young man named Chris Daniels. He was 22, and also had curly brown hair.

There was no doubt of the connection between these two victims and the first, because not only were they the same sex, around the same age, and had the same hair style, but they had all been murdered the same way.

Left leg cut off, sliced over the heart in the shape of an X. Whoever was killing these people was doing it for a reason, and he was targeting a very specific group of people.

Because another connection, one less obvious, was that all of the victims so far had recently been in rough times. Minimum wage job, if they even had a job. Crummy apartments, not a lot of family in the area. All three of them had struggled with an addiction recently.

It had been Spencer to "divine" that connection.

Which brought him to the other reason for his weariness. Spencer had been much harder to push than Lassiter had at first thought. He'd been steadily pushing at the younger man for the past week, keeping it subtle, yet still managing to irritate.

But Spencer had barely seemed to notice, and he had been insufferably peppy throughout the whole ordeal. Always making jokes, always snickering and chuckling, always pushing Lassiter right back, not quite as subtly. By all accounts, Spencer was behaving as he usually did, that is to say, childishly.

Lassiter had almost even reached the conclusion that his suspicions were unfounded, Spencer's odd behavior had been nothing more than his imagination.

Lassiter stood up from his desk and went to refill his coffee mug. He was on his fourth cup.

He had stayed at work late last night, and he had come in early this morning. That was the thing about serial killers. Everybody was working hard to catch whatever psycho was doing this, and nobody was getting anywhere close.

The guy left no leads. There were no fingerprints, there was no connection between the victims aside from their physical description and current financial status. Each victim had simply disappeared from their apartment and then reappeared two days later, dead.

And there was no telling when the killer would strike again.

~Psych~

Shawn sighed as he began to climb up the steps to the station. He'd had quite a tough week himself and coped the only way he knew how. Lighten the mood by playing the clown.

He joked, he laughed, he made funny comments that were inappropriate for the situation at hand, he made references to TV shows and movies from the 80's, and he picked on Lassie.

He didn't really mind being a fool as long as it meant his friends' jobs were made a little easier. It wasn't healthy to let tension build and build and build until your mind just snapped.

Speaking of tension...

Shawn hadn't been able to sleep last night. In fact, he hadn't gotten a good sleep since Matthew Thomas had been found dead. He knew there was something he was missing, something that would rip this case wide open and expose the killer. But he couldn't figure out what it was.

He kept from looking tired by downing a Monster every morning, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. This case was seriously taking it's toll on the fake psychic.

He reached the doors and stepped into the station, sauntering over to Jules's desk and leaning against it. "Morning, Jules!" He said brightly. "Any news on the case?"

"Nothing," She said, worry creasing small lines into her forehead. "We just got the results on the autopsy, the victim died by bleeding out, just like the first two."

"Spencer!" Shawn inwardly flinched as the head detective stalked towards him from his desk. Shawn didn't really know why, but Lassie's aggressiveness towards him had increased almost imperceptibly over the past week. Nobody other than him would have noticed the change, but Shawn had noticed, and it was driving him crazy.

_Oh well,_ he thought._ It's nothing I can't handle._ Turning towards the detective, Shawn grinned. "Lassie!" He said, searching his brain for one of the many jokes he constantly used against the man.

That was as far as he got, however, before he was suddenly hit with the worst bout of stomach-wrenching depression he had experienced since the divorce.

He managed to keep the smile, but he felt trapped, like he couldn't breathe, and this was the worst possible time for such a thing to happen.

His moods always intensified when he was tired, and today he was already strained and exhausted, making for a very bad mix.

Not to mention he was in the middle of the crowded police station, in mid-conversation with the only person whose observance and deduction skills came anywhere close to his own, and that person already suspected him anyway.

There was no way out of this, he realized. He was just going to have to try and ride this one out.

Suddenly he remembered that Lassie was talking, and he tuned in to what the man was saying, trying to hold in his panic as well as he could so he could play his part and leave before anything happened.

"...and waste department resources on your playtime," Lassiter was saying. "We're all very busy here trying to catch a killer, so spit out whatever it is you came here to say, and then get out."

"Lassie," Shawn whined, smirking just enough to set the detectives teeth on edge. "I know you're trying to catch a killer, that's why I came, to offer my services." Shawn leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets in an attempt to look casual. And to hide his shaking hands. But he couldn't think of anything funny to say. He was drawing an absolute blank.

Lassiter folded his arms. "Well, as much as it pains me to say this, we don't need your services. Oh wait, that didn't pain me at all!" He smirked and continued talking. "I don't know how you've managed to convince the chief that we need you, but as far as I'm concerned, you're just a waste of our time. How about you and Guster go get some ice cream and leave the police work to us adults?"

Shawn smirked. Not that there was anything funny about the situation, but because that was what he usually did. Besides, Lassiter had said exactly what Shawn expected him to say, he just had to make a joke now before he left and he would be home free.

"By the way, where _is_ Gus?" Juliet interrupted, seeming to notice for the first time that Shawn was alone. "He needed a day off," Shawn answered absently.

It was true, the case had taken quite a toll on Gus as well, and he had practically been dead on his feet the night before. Shawn had finally sent him home and told him to get some rest and not to come back until he felt he could handle it.

"Finally got tired of you, huh?" Lassiter remarked. That was it.

Normally, Shawn wouldn't have let such a little thing bother him, it was just another dig. But today, when he was exhausted, stressed out, overworked, and outright desperate, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"FOR YOUR INFORMATION, _DETECTIVE_," Shawn burst, making the two detectives practically jump while the rest of the station went quiet. "GUS TOOK THE DAY OFF TODAY BECAUSE WE HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS CASE DAY AND NIGHT FOR THE PAST WEEK! SPENDING HOURS POURING OVER EVERY LITTLE DETAIL, JUST LIKE YOU HAVE, SEARCHING FOR LEADS, LOOKING FOR CLUES, _ANY_ LITTLE INSIGNIFICANT CLUE TO SHOW US WHERE TO GO TO FIND THIS... THIS... PSYCHO AND TAKE HIM OFF THE STREETS.

THERE HAVE BEEN THREE PEOPLE MURDERED SO FAR, AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO TELL ME THAT WE ARE A WASTE OF YOUR PRECIOUS TIME!" Lassiter and Juliet stood in stunned silence as Shawn paced back and forth in front of them, visibly shaking as he screamed.

"FOR FOUR YEARS, I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO HELP YOU, I HAVE SOLVED EVERY CASE I HAVE BEEN GIVEN, NO MATTER HOW MANY ROADBLOCKS AND OBSTACLES _YOU'VE _THROWN MY WAY IN AN ATTEMPT TO KEEP MY AWAY!"

Shawn stopped pacing and walked up to Lassiter, standing with his face about six inches away. "I WAS EVEN _SHOT_ LAST MONTH, AND STILL MANAGED TO CATCH MY OWN KIDNAPPER AND WOULD-BE MURDERER, AND YOU STILL REFUSE TO SAY THAT I AM WORTH _ANYTHING_ TO THIS DEPARTMENT. WELL? AM I WORTH IT, _DETECTIVE_?" Shawn spat the word "detective" as if it was a disease. "WHY DON'T YOU SAY THAT I AM WORTH SOMETHING?" He glared into the fearful eyes of the man he was yelling at. Not fearful for his own personal safety, but for the safety of the man practically threatening him. "SAY IT!" Shawn yelled. Lassiter made no sudden movements, he barely even breathed. "Spencer," he said, in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. "Spencer, I need you to calm down, okay?"

Shawn stopped and took a step back, suddenly coming to himself. "Oh no," he muttered. "Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no." He turned around and ran, faster than he ever thought possible, out of the station, past all the shocked faces of his coworkers and through the parking lot.

Vaguely, he realized that people were following him, that someone was shouting his name, but he didn't pay any attention, he hopped up on his bike and started it, speeding out of the parking lot and down an alleyway, driving as fast as was legally allowed (now was not the time to get pulled over for speeding) until he was sure he wasn't being followed.

Then he pulled over and took the time to pull his helmet onto his head and turn his cell phone off before he continued driving. He ignored the three missed calls from Jules, he hoped she would forgive him for it later. Then he tried to think of what to do. He didn't want to go home or to the Psych office, they would look for him there. But he didn't really have anywhere else to go and he didn't want to run away again.

That was a shocker. Even after everything that had just happened, he didn't want to run away. He liked his life in Santa Barbara, he liked Psych and hanging out with Lassie and Jules and Gus, and he liked the awkward weekly dinners with his dad. No, he wasn't going to run away. He had too much to stay for.

~Psych~

Lassiter had to fight the urge to draw his gun as he chased after the psychic. Not that he wanted to shoot the man, it was just a reflex. Chase a suspect, draw your gun, yell "FREEZE" and then wait.

But Spencer was no suspect. Spencer was an emotionally compromised young man (as shown by his recent outburst) and he was running out of the station towards his motorcycle.

"SHAWN!" O'Hara was yelling after him as she followed Lassiter. "SHAWN, WAIT!"

But of course Spencer didn't wait. He hopped onto his motorcycle and sped out of the parking lot. He hadn't even thought to put on his helmet.

They stopped on the steps of the station, staring after the corner where Shawn had disappeared. Lassiter took a deep breath. If he knew his partner at all, and he liked to think that he did, she would have a few choice words to say to him.

"Why did you do that!?" She said, turning to Lassiter, who grimaced. Yep, he knew his partner alright. He decided to go on the defense.

"What?" He asked. O'Hara crossed her arms. "You know what I'm talking about, Carlton," she said. "Why did you pick on Shawn, you knew he'd been working hard on the case."

Now see, that was where his partner was wrong. Lassiter really hadn't known that Spencer put much work into _any_ of his cases, he truly believed (and kind of still believed) that the young man skated through his victories on the work of everyone else. That Spencer would have gone to the trouble of actual police work was a thought that had never even entered his mind.

He was about to tell O'Hara this, but he saw she was on her phone. Calling Spencer, no doubt. "He's not gonna answer right now, O'Hara," he said helpfully. His partner sent a glare his way, obviously forbidding him from speaking again. He rolled his eyes.

She could call Spencer as often as she wanted, he wasn't going to pick up the phone until he had calmed down and had a chance to think. In the meantime, there was still a killer to catch, and... Oh great.

The chief wanted to speak with him about what had just gone down. He sighed and made his way up the steps back into the station. He had a lot of explaining to do.


	7. Chapter 6

Shawn was incredibly tired. He was so tired, he hadn't known people could get this tired. And man, his head hurt. It was pounding in his skull, pounding like a metaphor that was...hot for some reason. _Okay, this is by far the worst hangover I've ever had._

Wait... he didn't remember getting drunk last night... He didn't even remember going to a bar. What had happened?

He raised a hand to rub his pounding head. No, wait, he didn't raise his hand. He couldn't move his hands. He tried to open his eyes. Nope. He had something stretched across his eyes. A blindfold. And... yup. He had tape over his mouth. This was not good.

So, a recap. His hands were tied behind his back. Duct taped, by the feel of it. He was sitting on a chair... his legs were tied down too. He had tape over his mouth, so he couldn't call for help. He had a blindfold on, so he couldn't see where he was.

How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was driving through the streets of Santa Barbara, trying to find a place to lay low, figure things out. What had happened? How had he gotten here? How long had he been here? And the most important question: How on earth was he going to escape?

~Psych~

Lassiter sighed, rubbing his head, where a headache was beginning to develop. The chief had not been too pleased with his explanation yesterday, and had had a few choice words to say to him on the subject.

But that was yesterday, today was a new day, and he had a serial killer to catch. He couldn't afford to lose his focus now.

He worked in relative peace for about an hour, and then his peace was disturbed, but not by the usual disturber of peace. This time, it was the sidekick, coming in alone and looking around anxiously before making his way to O'Hara's desk.

"Good morning, Juliet," Guster said absently. "Have you seen Shawn this morning? He's not at the Psych Office or his apartment, and he won't pick up his phone."

Juliet sent a glare to Lassiter. Yeah, she still hadn't quite forgiven him yet. She was clearly saying "See what you did?"

She turned back to Guster. "Sorry, Gus," she said. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Well, at least she didn't rat him out to Guster. Not that he cared or anything, but still.

Gus was still standing there looking worried when McNabb came walking over. "Excuse me, guys," he said nervously, a small frown creasing his forehead. "But we just got a report of a wreck found out on the highway about three miles out of town."

Lassiter scowled. "So?" he said. "That hardly concerns us. Why are you telling me?" McNabb gave a nervous glance at Juliet. "Well," he said. "The vehicle was a motorcycle. A black 1972 Norton Commando, to be exact."

Everything went quiet, no one said a word. No one had to, they all were thinking the same thing. That specific motorcycle was very familiar to everyone present. Gus was the first to speak up. "Shawn?" Was all he said.

"He wasn't there," McNabb said, answering the question. Lassiter blinked. "What?" he said dryly. McNabb shifted his weight. "Shawn wasn't at the scene of the accident," he said. No one was. Someone called in the report ten minutes ago, they were driving by and saw the bike on the side of the road. No one's there."

"And has anyone been out to investigate? Lassiter asked. "Not yet," McNabb answered. "I thought you might want to hear about it first." Secretly, Lassiter was glad of this. That meant he could go out and investigate without having to be bothered with details provided by incompetent rookie detectives wanting to make a good impression.

Out loud, however, he had an image to maintain. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He barked. "Response time is very critical, McNabb! Don't waste department time with idle chit-chat when there's a scene to investigate!" McNabb stuttered a "y-yes sir," before he turned to send out some squad cars. Lassiter shook his head before turning to Juliet. "Well?" He asked. "Are you coming or what?" She still looked mad at him, but he could tell she wasn't going to be left behind for anything. She got up and put on her jacket before heading to the front door, Guster following her like a lost puppy.

Lassiter rolled his eyes before following the two of them out. He still felt guilty about what had happened, and now he had something to do with which to ease that guilt. Whatever mess Spencer had gotten himself into this time, Lassiter was going to be there to get him out.

**Author's note:** I'm sorry it took me so long to update, and I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I'm suffering from a weird sort of writer's block, where I've just become completely uninspired as far as Psych goes. I finished up this chapter as far as I can, and I'm far from satisfied with it, but at least it's something.

Don't worry, I'll probably become inspired Psychically (XD) again in October, when the new season comes out. In the meantime, I've become obsessed with the Monkees, and I'll be posting a few stories of that nature very soon. Until then, then, peace!


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's note: I'm back! Did you all miss me?_

_EvE79, in regards to your review, Shawn actually doesn't fit the description. So far, all the victims were in their early twenties, had curly brown hair, lousy jobs, and had recently been struggling with an addiction. Shawn is, at this point, around thirty, he does have brown hair but it isn't curly, he has a very successful business as a police consultant and private Psychic investigator, and the only things he seems to be addicted to are jerk chicken, pineapples, hair gel and fries quatro quesos, which don't travel well. I felt like I had to point that out, or future plot points might not make sense._

_Not the thing about the fries, the thing about how he doesn't fit the description. Yeah._

_Anyway, now to the chapter!_

* * *

Shawn had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, it could have been anywhere from twenty minutes to three hours. His headache was finally leaving, so he tried again to discover as much about his current situation as he could, starting with how he'd gotten here, and where 'here' was.

It was obvious that he'd been kidnapped, but he couldn't remember how. He had been riding his motorcycle through the streets of Santa Barbara, and then...

It was a blank. He just couldn't remember.

Then, he'd woken up here. He was sitting on a chair with his hands duct-taped behind his back. His arms were duct-taped to the back of the chair, as well as his chest. His legs were also duct-taped to the legs of the chair, and he had duct-tape over his mouth. _Whoever this is,_ he thought. _They sure have a thing for duct-tape._ He considered this for a moment. _Maybe it's Red Green._

He could see the headlines now: LOCAL PSYCHIC KIDNAPPED AND HELD PRISONER BY FAMED CANADIAN HANDYMAN.

Nah, it couldn't be Red Green. There really wasn't any motive, and besides, he was pretty sure that guy had been abducted by aliens years ago.

Besides all the duct-tape, Shawn also had on a blindfold, so he couldn't see the room he was in. But he had his other senses.

The air was still, there wasn't any draft, so he could assume there were no windows nearby. He sniffed the air, it was musty and close, so he was likely in a basement. There was another smell, too, one he at first couldn't place. It suddenly hit him, however. It was the faint lingering smell of blood.

_Okay, so I'm not dealing with an eccentric TV celebrity,_ he thought._ Unless Red Green likes to injure and/or kill his kidnapped guest stars._

Somehow, that wasn't a very comforting thought.

* * *

Lassiter pulled up to the scene of the accident and got out of the car. He put on his sunglasses and walked over to the side of the road, where the bike had been found. It certainly was a wreck. For a second, he thought of how angry Shawn would be if he were here right now.

"We think he might have been run off the road," McNabb was saying. "The position of the bike indicates that he was rear-ended and then skidded to a stop over here, then we think he might have been thrown from the bike before he was moved, we don't know where to."

Lassiter walked around the wreck, ignoring Gus's strangled groan at the sight of the mangled bike. Something didn't sit right with him about McNabb's theory. It sounded right, the position of the bike matched up, there were skid marks on the road, the nearby underbrush was trampled, matching up with the accident theory, and the dirt surrounding the area was covered in drag marks.

But there was something off. Something... wrong. Kneeling in front of the handlebars, he realized what it was.

"There's no dirt on the bike," he said. O'Hara leaned in closer as well, surprise dawning on her face as she saw he was right. "Who gets in this bad of a wreck without getting the vehicle dirty?" She asked. It wasn't really a question, more a confirmation with what she knew Lassiter was thinking.

Not for nothing did the two of them have the highest scores in deductive reasoning. It seemed obvious now what had happened.

"Get the bike back to the station," Lassiter ordered. "Wipe it for prints, and get tread marks on these tracks," He walked over to the road and pointed at the skid marks from the other vehicle.

"Yes sir," McNabb said, walking away. Gus looked confused. "But, won't all the prints on the bike belong to Shawn?"

"Not necessarily," O'Hara said. "Not if this whole accident was a cover."

"A cover?" Gus asked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"She means the accident happened somewhere else, if it even happened at all," Lassiter barked. He pointed at the bike. "Look," he said, slipping into his teacher mode. "There's no dirt on the bike. What does that tell you?"

Gus frowned. "Hey, you're right," he said. "There's dirt everywhere out here. Whatever happened to Shawn, must've happened in the city."

"Right," O'Hara said. "Then, someone dumped the bike out here and made it look like an accident."

Gus frowned again, confused. "But, why would they do that?" He asked. Lassiter looked back down at the bike and frowned. "Because now we have no crime scene," He said. "We don't know where Shawn was when this happened. He could have been anywhere in Santa Barbara, or any other nearby city, for that matter. We have no crime scene, no suspects, nothing."

Gus looked anxious. "Then how do we find him?" He asked. "We go over every detail," Lassiter answered bluntly, walking towards his car. "We search through all records of every case he's worked on in the last year, to see if there's been any released convicts with a grudge against him. We go through any cases he's been working on recently, see if there could be any connection to those. We check out any anonymous tips that could pertain to the case. And we wait for some kind of contact, maybe whoever this is will call us up, try and make a deal."

_Or Spencer might call,_ he thought, but he didn't want to say it out loud.

For one thing, he didn't want to give Guster any false hope that Spencer would send them a message like he had done before, which wasn't likely. The last time Spencer had gone missing, he'd contacted them almost within the hour. Judging by the scene of the "accident," the settled dirt and the cooled engine, the bike had been out here for an hour at least, and that was after the bike had been moved from some unknown location in the city. If Spencer could have contacted them, he would have already done it.

But another reason Lassiter didn't say it was because he was trying not to think of the last time Spencer had gone missing.

He had been lucky last time, the criminal who had shot him had only given him a flesh wound, and then had stopped the bleeding, and Spencer had only been gone for a period of around twelve hours before they had found him. Even during the car chase, Spencer had been considerably lucky.

For some reason, the second criminal, the one who would have shot to kill, didn't even fire his gun until Shawn had jumped to another car and was thereby protected from the flying bullets. Lassiter was still annoyed that Spencer had jumped onto _his_ car, but still, the consultant had been lucky.

He wasn't so sure Spencer would have the same luck this time around, and so he put the incident from his mind and focused on doing what he could this time around.

"Do you think this might have something to do with the serial killer?" O'Hara asked as they drove back to the station, and although she tried to keep her tone professional, Lassiter could hear a note of fear in her voice.

"I don't think so," he said. "Spencer doesn't fit the description of all the victims so far. So unless he got too close or something, there's no reason for the killer to target him."

O'Hara looked a little bit relieved, but somehow even more stressed, and Lassiter figured he could guess why.

Spencer was the kind of guy who always seemed to get too close, no matter what the situation. It was very easy to believe that he had gotten too close again, and this time, he and O'Hara hadn't been right behind him to pull him out of danger.

So even though it made sense, Lassiter couldn't help but hope that this was some other case Spencer had been working on, and not connected to the serial killer they were trying to catch. Because if it was, there was no telling what state they might find the consultant in.

"Oh good, you're here," Chief Vick said as they entered the station. "Come into my office, there's been another kidnapping."

Lassiter and O'Hara followed her in, and to Lassiter's annoyance, Gus followed them.

"Chief," O'Hara said. "There was a reported motorcycle accident on the highway-"

"I know," The chief said, cutting her off gently. "And O'Hara, any other time, you know I'd be making him a priority, but this is crucial."

She picked up the file and handed it to Lassiter. "His name is Arthur Ronalds, aged 21, and he was reported missing at 6:13 this morning."

Lassiter, reading the file, saw that Arthur Ronalds had been court ordered to attend an NA group a few months ago, and had been fired from his job as a corner store cashier only last week. Turning the page, he saw the picture of the missing person, and let out a small sigh at the sight of curly brown hair. "You think it's connected?" He asked, glancing up at the chief. "You think it isn't?" She said in response.

"If I may ask," Gus said from his corner of the room. "What makes this one different from the others? You said it was crucial."

"Nice catch, Mr. Guster," The chief said. "What makes this one crucial is we have a witness."

"What!?" O'Hara exclaimed. Lassiter looked up at the chief expectantly. "Well, where is he!?" He demanded. The chief looked up at him in amusement. "Mrs. Ronalds, Arthur's mother, is in Seattle Washington," she said. "She lives there with her husband, and she just so happened to be on the phone with Arthur when he was kidnapped."

Lassiter frowned. "How am I supposed to interview a witness in Seattle!?" He said. The chief sat down. "Mrs. Ronalds is currently being interviewed by the Seattle police department," she said. "They have agreed to cooperate fully, as the kidnapping took place in Santa Barbara, and was only reported in Seattle. As soon as they have her statement, they're sending it right over. In the meantime, see what you can find out."

"Chief," O'Hara began again, but chief Vick held up her hand.

"Yes, O'Hara," she said. "You may investigate both. Just get me results!" She added, as O'Hara wasted no time in leaving the station, followed by Guster. Lassiter sighed. It looked like he was going to have to the brunt of the work on this one.


End file.
